(Another post lost in drafts, publishing it 8 years later. Enjoy!)
I can't remember the last time I went to the bathroom alone. With a 22 months old, I'd imagine the last time was 22 months ago. Oona's always there. She's seen everything, heard everything (She still doesn't think farts are funny, but we're working on it) Sometimes she's really paying attention to what I'm doing, and other times she's really focused on getting ALL the toilet paper off the roll.
Today, she watched me change a period pad and put in a tampon and even said uh-oh when she saw the string in between my legs when I stood up. And the only reason today is special is because this is (hopefully*) the last month I will get my period.
Next week, on January 31st, I am getting a Bilateral Salpingo and an Oophorectomy. In non-doctor talk, I'm getting my ovaries and my tubes removed. Which means I will go through a medically forced menopause. It also means we had to decide to be done having children.
Let me go back a bit.
There is a TON of breast cancer on my dad's side of the family, and during the summer of 2017, at 30, I took a genetic test that let me know that I have the BRCA1 gene mutation, which puts me in more danger of getting breast and ovarian cancer than someone who doesn't have the mutation. (yep, just like Angelina Jolie)
So, at 30 years old, a genetic counselor looked at me and told me -in front of my parents- that I should "unabashedly look for someone to be with, have babies, and when I'm done, get rid of my breasts and ovaries."
Jason and I started dating when I was 33,
I got pregnant with Olive when I was 37,
I got pregnant with Oona when I was 38 and had her at 39.
(* all the hopefullys are because no one can tell for sure how someone will react to forced menopause. I might bleed or have migraines for the rest of my life! Yay!)